


Reinhardt's Corporate Raiders - First Mission

by Mohammedbey



Category: BattleTech: MechWarrior, Mercenary - Fandom, Space - Fandom, War - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:49:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23242801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mohammedbey/pseuds/Mohammedbey
Summary: Helmuth von Wiener, newly graduated from the academy and on his first combat mission as a mercenary Battlemech pilot, runs into problems with his equipment not performing as expected...which isn't much of a surprise when his expectations are unreasonable.





	Reinhardt's Corporate Raiders - First Mission

Nirasaki, Draconis Combine  
August, 3038  
Day 1, 1700 Hours

It was a sweltering day on Nirasaki’s Southern continent, despite that, teams of men toiled at loading equipment, transferring pallets of circuit boards to waiting vehicles. Several dozen men sat on the ground, heads bent forward, hands behind their heads, as a handful of armed mercenary infantrymen kept watch over them.  
A lance of battlemechs patrolled the refinery, which was situated close to the production factories that provided the many components for constructing the circuit boards their unit was stealing.  
“Why are those FedSun losers in such a hurry?” Hauptmann Freiherr Helmuth von Wiener asked, to nobody in particular, “The menials could have accomplished this mission while I was at the baccarat table.” He pivoted his Griffin battlemech to face the Whitworth, ninety meters away.  
“The Kearney Highlanders hired our unit to cover the asset recovery teams while they kept the defenders busy,” responded Leutnant Gloria Snockers, “be happy we don’t have to fire a shot.”  
“Don’t give me that rubbish, snapped the Hauptmann, “our employers have their hands full with the third-rate militia units in this mudball,” he taunted, “this mission was a cakewalk, and you know it.”  
“Why did you insist on wasting your first week, after landing, at the resort, gambling and picking up hookers?” responded “we’d already be done here.”  
“Time management,” replied the Freiherr, “and only the enlisted ranks use hookers -as an officer, I engaged an escort service.”  
“Potayto, potahto,” shot back the Leutnant, “you just payed more for the exact same thing.”  
“That just proves how little women know,” mocked von Wiener, he turned his battlemech away, as to indicate his intent to end the discussion.

Day 2, 2300 Hours

The work crews labored feverishly, the foremen shouted orders as the loaders moved pallets of cargo to waiting vehicles at speeds that violated whole chapters of safety regulations.  
“How in Hell did our employers not notice a Kurita jumpship enter the system and deploy three dropships at the L1 pirate point?” Helmuth von Wiener was livid, “Tell those Kearney amateurs that their militia-hunting party is over.”  
“The ground crew says they need another five hours to make this mission pay off,” relayed the Leutnant, “I’ve ordered Dover and Johnson to escort the vehicles back to the LZ, while we hold off the Dracs.”  
“Commander Donnel had better listen to me next time,” growled the Hauptmann, “these worthless, House rent-a-cops can never be allowed to give us orders, ever.”  
“It looks like the enemy droppers are landing about two-zero kilometers to the Southwest,” warned Snockers, “we may not have five hours.”  
“Crap, crap, crap!” the Freiherr cursed, “have the crewmen move a couple of commandeered vehicles to block the gaps between the warehouses, half a klick from here, we’ll use the buildings as cover and stall the enemy there.”  
“Roger!”  
Hauptmann von Wiener looked over the map display and marked off choke points, “Gloria, have the crew barricade these points.”  
“I’m on it!” The Whitworth turned and marched off to find the crew manager.

Day 3, 0100 Hours

Three Union-class dropships grounded in the center of a large meadow and commenced deploying their battlemechs and vehicles.  
Tai-sa Matsuda’s Dragon descended the ramp from his Union onto the charred ground, “First Company comes with me, Second Company, go relieve the militia in town, Third Company, establish a perimeter defense, as per the briefing,” the commander examined his display of the local map, “the local militia reported a small force looting the tech park; Bravo Lance, take the North flank, Charlie Lance, the South, the Command Lance with me,” he added, “…and take no unnecessary prisoners.”

0300 Hours

“Freiherr Helmuth, we’ve got company!” the Whitworth fired its missiles at the closest target, a Panther, “I see a lance, but I’ve gotten reports of the transports being chased by another enemy lance.”  
“I knew this was going to happen!” replied von Wiener, “the rest of our company is guarding the LZ, while those lazy Highlanders are goofing off, chasing the local militia.”  
“I can’t get through to Major McCann,” reported Snockers, “I think they’re being jammed.”  
“It figures,” the Hauptmann replied, “if it wasn’t for the Lyrans, those tea-swilling incompetents would already be speaking Japanese.” He steered his Griffin toward the barricade where the Whitworth fought, and furiously tapped at his display, “Hey Gloria, what keystrokes do I use for ‘God Mode’?”  
“Say again?”  
“How do I call up the ‘God Mode’?” he asked again, “While in the academy, one of the techs showed me, after I slipped him some cash,” explained the Hauptmann, “how do you think I aced the simulator final exam?”  
“Wait…You cheated on that exam?” Snockers was aghast, “That portion kicked my butt!”  
“I didn’t cheat,” argued von Wiener, “I made adequate use of available assets.”  
“I can’t believe it,” the Leutnant said, as she launched another volley of missiles, “and there is no such thing as ‘God Mode’ in a real battle.”  
“Liar,” accused the Hauptmann, “you just don’t want me to outshine you, as I did while we were at the academy.” He kept trying keystroke combinations, obviously without success.  
“Get your cheating, Lyran wannabe posterior over here,” the Leutenant ordered, “the Dracs are closing in!”  
“Who do you think you are?” the Freiherr snapped, “I’m the guy in charge here, and don’t you forget it!” The Griffin staggered as the Panther’s PPC bolt blasted its left shoulder, “Dammit all, Gloria, I need that cheat code!”  
“There are no cheat codes!” shouted Snockers, her Whitworth took damage as she replied with another volley of missiles.  
“Why do these things cost so much? -They don’t even have cheat codes!” He fired his PPC and ducked behind the slowly crumbling barricade, “aren’t those plebeians finished yet?”  
“Yeah, but somebody has to get a message to the Kearney Highlanders,” the Leutenant told him, “we have no idea of what they may send to the LZ -We might be trapped here if they capture our dropships.”  
“Okay,” agreed von Wiener, “you stay here and hold them off, I’ll alert the regulars.”  
“No, I should go,” Snockers argued, “I have more damage and my missiles are nearly depleted.”  
“I have no time for this,” muttered the Hauptmann, he aimed his PPC and fired it low, shattering the armor in the Whitworth’s left leg, then kicked the medium-weight battlemech, for good measure, then backed off as the Whitworth fell to the pavement.  
“What the shi…” cried Snockers, stunned at her senior officer’s sudden attack.  
“Crawl into one of the warehouses and put your back to a wall,” he advised as his machine strode away, “I’ll return with help -and be happy our employers are covering all repairs.” He had to turn his speakers down, due to the steady stream of profanities his subordinate transmitted.

Day 5, 0700 Hours

Several mercenary and regular officers stood on the dropship’s bridge, the atmosphere was generally cheerful as they discussed their successful mission.  
“You really saved the day, young laddie,” said Major MCann to Freiherr von Wiener, “I can appreciate an officer who can think on his feet.”  
“Thank you, sir,” replied the Hauptmann, with a bow, “I owe it all to my studies at the academy.”  
“The Freiherr is being modest,” Colonel Donnel told the officers, “he graduated at the top of his class, with the highest simulator and field exercise scores in academy history.”  
“I’m even more impressed!” commented the Highlander commander.  
“Don’t forget Leutnant Snockers,” replied the Freiherr, “after all, she volunteered to slow the enemy.”  
“Odd,” pondered Donnel, “she was trying to tell me a very bizarre story when they brought her in.”  
Helmuth shook his head, “The poor thing suffered a head injury when she fell,” he added, “she was delirious, so I had the doctor give her extra sedatives, so she could relax and recover swiftly.”  
“That’s what I truly enjoy seeing,” McCann said in praise, “an officer who takes heartfelt interest in the health and welfare of his men.”  
“Well, her Whitworth did take a lot of damage,” replied the Hauptmann, “including that PPC to the leg from one of the Kurita Panthers.”  
“Yes, I saw that,” agreed the major, “it’s a shame the Whitworth’s battle ROM was destroyed in the fight.”  
Freiherr von Wiener coughed, “Yes, a real shame!” he shrugged, “now I feel guilty for abandoning Leutnant Snockers.”   
“Don’t feel bad, my boy!” McCann patted Helmuth’s shoulder, “you made the correct command decision -you put the mission first.”  
“Well, it’s a good thing this officer was in charge,” added the mercenary colonel, “he was able to escape the tightening noose and heroically lead the Highlanders to the rescue,” he beamed, “I expect a great review from our employers and maybe a promotion and upgrade recommendations from your mother and the other financial backers.”  
“You needn’t worry about that,” assured the Highlander officer, “I’m writing such a good report, people will believe that you wrote it yourself,” he turned to von Wiener, “as for you, I’m giving you the highest possible rating for your battle performance, your financial backers will think you used cheat codes.”  
“Cheat codes,” laughed Donnel, “did you hear that?”  
Freiherr Helmuth smiled.


End file.
